


Secret Admirer of The Billionaire

by LiveTheWritingDream



Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Falling In Love, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Modeling, Mystery, Nude Modeling, Oral Sex, Smut, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveTheWritingDream/pseuds/LiveTheWritingDream
Summary: When Ryan is the most decorated Olymipan of all time and a model for Michael Phelps Swimwear, and the CEO falls in love with him...





	

I

Ryan Lochte

         I groaned and rolled around slightly, listening to the aggravating and unpleasant ringing of the hotel alarm clock. I slammed my hand down to extinguish that god-awful blaring of the small device. I rose my head off my pillow to peer at the alarm clock. It read 7:30am. My body was probably gonna sink down into the carpet due to severe exhaustion. I sluggishly pushed myself off the very refreshing king-sized bed and rubbed my eyes, taking in my surroundings. This entire week was fashion week out in the heart of Las Vegas, Nevada, at the MGM Grand, and I was the lead model in this year’s swimsuit modeling demonstration for the male and female designer swimwear line, Michael Phelps Swimwear, more commonly known as MP. Today was the final day of the event, so there were gonna be massive amounts of photographers and videographers capturing all the moments of the last day.

I groggily sauntered into the bathroom of the hotel room and twisted the hot water knob in the shower on. I walked to the marble sink and looked at myself in the mirror. My brown hair with a few blond highlights was in a mess like a mop. My brown eyes were surrounded by circles of blackness and my skin was cracked beyond compare. I sighed and disrobed myself of my underwear, stepping into the glass enclosure that surrounded the shower. As soon as I hit the warm, relaxing water cascading onto my muscular body, I immediately moaned in extreme pleasure, the liquid replenishing my soul. I usually take my time to take a shower, but for this morning the shower would have to be transitory because I had to be at the ballroom on the lower floor of the hotel by 9:30. So I quickly scrubbed my body to repair most of the cracks and washed my hair to make it glistening. I twisted the knob to shut off the shower water, stepping out to grab the white velvety hotel towel hanging over on the railing. I did a quick dry of the body to remove most of the excess water droplets on my body, then I wrapped it around my waist. Stepping out into the bedroom, I walked over to my duffel bag that held my clothes. I opened it up and pulled out a pair of black sweatpants embroidered with the MP logo, a black V-neck T-shirt also with the same logo on it, a white pair of Calvin Klein briefs, and a pair of footie socks. As I was pulling up my underwear onto my body, there was a loud rasping on the wooden door of my room. I quickly finished what I was doing at that moment and rushed over to the peephole to see who the person was. It wan Allison, the CEO’s assistant. I unlocked the latch on the door and pushed down the lever on the door

“Allison!” I said, stepping to the side to allow her to walk in. “Come on in.”

“Thanks, Ryan,” she replied, taking a step into the room. I shut the door and gave her a hug. She returned it with a kiss on both cheeks. I stepped back away from the hug and made my way over to the bed, taking a seat on the white covers on the bed. She sat down onto the purple leather chair that was placed in the corner next to the window that oversaw the scenery that was Las Vegas. I always loved looking at Las Vegas during the morning. The calmness of this spring day in middle April made it feel more reassuring. It made it feel that each was going to be a pleasant day.

“So,” Allison said, slicing the silence and jolting me from my brief trance, “as you know, today is the final day of Fashion Week 2004, and the last day is usually a big day. Cameras will be everywhere, all pointed at the one model who rules them all. You,” she said, pointing in my direction. “You are the one that started it all and you’re gonna be the one that ends it as well.”

“Alright, but I don’t see why you needed to come get me,” I said. “I mean, I was gonna show up on time at 9:30.”

“Well, the boss wanted me to give you a pep talk,” she responded. “I’m not very good at pep talking in the first place.” I chuckled.

“It’s alright. I’m just pumped and ecstatic about today’s last day,” I replied, smiling a bit. “This was a glorious week and I can’t thank you and the company for this unbelievable experience.”

“Aww, no problem,” Allison said. “Now, if you will excuse, please get dressed.” I peered down my body and saw that I was still in my briefs. I looked back up, blushing and laughing nervously. “It’s 8:45, so we need to be down there in about forty-five minutes.” I just stood there blushing my ass off as she walked to the hotel door, opening it and shutting it. I shook my head and continued to get dressed, pulling on my sweatpants and my T-shirt, traveling into the bathroom to fix my hair, brush my teeth, and check myself out in the mirror. Damn, did I look good. I put on my Timberland boots with the footie socks, grabbed my phone and my wallet, and headed out of my hotel room to go down to the ballroom. Fashion week, day number seven, was about to begin.

— — — — —

            I stepped out from the elevator into the main lobby of MGM Grand. Hundreds of thousands of photographers and videographers lugging in loads of equipment in time for the last day. I whipped out my phone to check what time it was. It read 8:53am. Not much time had passed from my encounter with Allison while standing in my underwear and now. I exhaled and toured throughout the flowing waved of cameramen. A great deal of them kept bumping into me and caused me to bump into other people. The people I slammed into shot me a glare and I just glared back and snarled at a few of them. Eventually, I made it through, continuing down the hall toward the ballroom. Along the way, I saw many posters hanging on the wall that were mostly from my last campaigns of my photo shoots. I also saw other posters of some of my friends who also happened to be at the event, but since I was the lead model of this year’s Fashion Week, most of the advertising posters depicted myself in all my glory.

            I finally reached the ballroom for the swimsuit demonstration for Day Seven. Plenty of photographers were already in here: setting up equipment, trying to get the best seats for all the action, and lights blaring and shining brighter than ever. I sighed and walked behind the curtains behind the catwalk to get ready. Once I passed the clearance to get backstage, I saw that I was the last one to show up. Everyone was prepping to get ready. I sauntered over to a rack that had a piece of paper taped to the top crossbar labeled “Ryan Lochte.” On today’s rack was the outfits that I was supposed to wear. I selected the first outfit on front and went to the bathroom to put it on. Once I came out of the bathroom, I heard a voice call me over.

            “Hey, Ryan! Over here!” someone called out. I looked over to the location of the voice and I saw that it was one of my friends Nathan Adrian. He was the head model for Jonathan Hunter, an all-purpose designer clothing company located out in Tampa. He was standing with Conor Dwyer, his husband and second head model of the same company. They met there, and they got married about three months ago. I attended the wedding as Nathan’s best man because I had known him for a prolonged amount of time. We were best friends all the way through grade school in Boston, up north. We met in the summertime during a swim practice. I thought it would be hilarious to push him into the pool, so I did. He got angry and pissed off at me, so when I wasn’t looking, he came up behind me and got revenge. Afterward we started laughing hard and bonded over this, which led us to become best friends.

            “Hey, Nate,” I said, approaching him and wrapping him up into a warm hug. He stood at 6’6”, a bit taller than my 6’2” and a bit more muscular than I am. I always loved his hugs because he always held me for a minute on the dot. At first, Conor was apprehensive at this because he thought I would take Jester away from him, but eventually he accepted it because we were only friends. He finally let me go after his minute of hugging, and I stepped back to get a good view of him. I whistled low.

            “Damn, you look so good,” I exclaimed.

            “You can’t be serious,” Nathan interjected. “You look so much better than me! Don’t you agree, Conor?” he asked.

            “Aww, come on, why are you asking your husband this question?” I asked, gesturing toward Conor. “Of course he’s gonna say-”

            “You actually do look better than Nate,” Conor admitted. “I never said that before, and you’re not gonna hear that again. Probably for the rest of my lifetime.”

            “No, you’re probably gonna hear that again,” Nathan replied. “By the way, where did you get that speedo?”

            “You mean this?” I asked, taking a step back and twirling around. Nathan and Conor were both clapping and cheering. “I made this design. I sent it over to the CEO of MP and he loved it. It’s our best-selling speedo in our company, which I was surprised by.” The speedo that I was referring to, the one that I had on currently, was a one-inch waistband with a droplet of water falling into a rainbow river creating ripples. I wasn’t expecting the public to be accepting this design because of the homosexuality factor. But, they were very accepting, buying the entire supply and making us sell out in four hours.

            “Yeah, you’ve got it all. That speedo is so sexy!” Conor exclaimed. “I’m actually gonna buy one after this week has ended.”

            “The swimsuit demonstration will begin in 5 minutes. I repeat, the swimsuit demonstration will begin in 5 minutes,” the announcer spoke through the speakers. Nathan, Conor, and I jumped, startled at the sound of the British accent permeating throughout the backstage area. The speakers were only loud enough to resonate through the ballroom, but not loud enough to break the barriers of the room. This was to insure the comfort of the other patrons that happened to stay at the Grand that were not attending Fashion Week. If we happened to disturb them, the company that runs Fashion Week, which happened to be Marc Jacobs, would have to deal with a shaky situation to either allow Fashion Week to continue or cancel it. That would unfortunately lose massive amounts of money for all the fashion companies. So, to keep the week going and to keep revenue up for all the companies, they only put speakers in the correct ballrooms and at a certain volume as well.

            All the model lined up in alphabetical order by company name, with me leading off. I waited patiently, yet nervous. This was the biggest fashion show that I ever had the pleasure of attending and partaking in. Now, it was the last day and I was ready for it to be over.

            “Hello, everyone, and welcome to the swimsuit demonstration of Fashion Week 2004!” The announcer spoke over the crowd, silencing them. “Today, you will see the newest and sexiest styles of swimsuits on today’s market. Let’s get started!” The crowd erupted in cheer, clapping and jeering like crazy. I gulped nervously. Then, I felt a sharp tap on my shoulder. I turned around and saw Jester mouth, _It’s okay,_ to me. I nodded and turned back around.

            “First up, Ryan Lochte, from Michael Phelps Swimwear,” the announcer said. I walked out onto the catwalk, immediately getting drenched in the warmth of the light from the crowd, the photographers flashing their cameras, and the catwalk illuminating the path of my steps. I inhaled, exhaled, and started my classic strut down the lane. The announcer kept speaking. “This suit is designed by the model himself. It’s a creative gradient with all the other colors of the rainbow. It’s their biggest selling swimsuit in their company, selling roughly over two-and-a-half million suits in the first month on the market alone. Enjoy this elegant and sexy design that’s suitable for all men.” The man stopped talking and the photographers went absolutely nuts. I smiled, adding a little pizazz to my step. I reached the end of the lane, posed, posed, and posed again, and strut back down the lane, just as Jester was starting down the path. I reached the other end and disappeared behind the curtain, walking back over to my rack, picking out the next suit that I was to wear and changing into it.

            This went on for the next three hours, walking down the catwalk, cameras flashing, and people screaming and cheering. We ended with all of us standing on the stage and bowing. I changed back into my clothes that I wore when I got down to the ballroom, waved goodbye to Conor and Nathan, and went back to my hotel room. I unlocked the door with the room key, walking through the pathway, and heading over to the fridge, pulling out a Gatorade. I walked over to the bed, but I saw a letter on top of the pillow. I set my drink on the nightstand and picked up the letter and opening it. It was a handwritten letter, saying:

            “ **My dearest Ryan,**

**“You were fabulous out there today. I got plenty of people raving over your rainbow-styled speedo, as it is our biggest selling model. Everything that you did this week was spot on. You were a great ambassador for the company and you deserve a huge reward. You will see what it is when you get back home. I am so proud of you. You are the sexiest model for AK and I cherish your presence and impact that you made on the swimming world. Can’t wait to see you swimming your heart out at the Athens Olympics. Hope you reply soon.**

**“Lots of love and hugs and kisses,**

**“** **MP** **”**

I reread the letter repeatedly, trying to match the handwriting to a face. I knew who the letter was from; that was obvious. It was from the CEO, Michael Phelps. He always signed his letters with a stamp that said “MP”, per Hailee. But, I have never seen the face. Ever. In fact, other than Allison, because she is his assistant, no one has seen the face of the CEO. It was a mystery to the public. For the rest of the day, the mysterious figured haunted me. Who was this man? Why is he sending me letters? And, more importantly, why does he love me?

           

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you like it!
> 
> Leave and comment and kudos!


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